Goner
by babyblacksheep
Summary: "I've got two faces, blurry's the one I'm not. I need your help to take him out. Don't let me be gone." Nathan is having an astonishingly shitty day, and Warren tries his best to help.
1. The Best Son In The World

**yo, please enjoy the GrahamScott~~~**

 **I've been dying to give my gay babies some love.** **probably just a one-shot because I'm rather bad at continuing things, but ya never know.**

 **warnings: profanity, mentions of self harm, brief mentions of suicide, mentions of drug use, alcohol, and obviously hella GrahamScott ;)**

* * *

The drugs were wearing off.

The good and the sinful kind. (Don't ask which were which.) He hadn't taken his meds in over 36 hours, and the cocaine – hot damn, was it nice, but it sure didn't last very fucking long.

Even on his best days, this wasn't a very pleasant feeling. But add a phone call from dad into the mix, and you get an absolute emotional _shit show_.

He thought if could only shut his eyes hard enough, or hold his breath long enough, that maybe – just maybe – he would black out, and have the sweet pleasure of avoiding this conversation.

"Are you fucking _kidding me_?"

Nathan flinched and tore his cell phone away from his ear as his father continued to scream. "... so embarrassing ... _my_ son isn't going to behave this way... ... how many strings I pulled?"

He didn't return the phone to his ear until the volume of his voice had dwindled from banshee-howling into a dull roar. He leaned against the wall, eyes hardening with every syllable his father spat out. His dorm wasn't a safe place – it couldn't be – because his father was goddamn _everywhere_.

"Nathan, how many fucking times do we have to have this phone call? I don't pay for you to go to this school so you can dick around and fail all your classes."

"I'm not failing anything," Nathan hissed, his chest clenching fearfully as soon as he uttered the words.

"Don't use that tone with me – since when are you so goddamn disrespectful?" He went on. "God, just _once_ I'd like to get a positive email about you. Do you know what position this puts me in? I hate lying to your mother."

"Sorry." He mumbled, though his lips were trembling with every obscenity in the book. His entire mouth ached from holding in the words. He felt like he might vomit from the pressure.

"I'm afraid ' _sorry_ ' isn't going to raise your grades or improve your behavior."

"I know." His throat felt swollen.

"I know, _Sir_. And what the hell are you doing setting off firecrackers in the school bathroom? I seriously have to wonder if there's a single goddamn thought going through—"

( _Bloodshot eyes – fragile heart, threatening to burst – running down the hallway – cackling. Finger tips burning from the fuses.)_

 _(Trevor and Zach had bailed – leaving just Nathan to take the blame.)_

 _("It's cool, bro," Trevor had said. "It's not like you were gonna get expelled. I mean, not with your dad, y'know. You're so fucking lucky._ ")

 _(so)_

 _(fucking)_

 _(lucky)_

"I don't want to talk about it," he answered gruffly.

"Oh – and you think I _do_?" His father yelled; Nathan's ear drums felt like they were shrinking into oblivion. "You think I enjoy receiving all these emails about what a disruptive little shit my son is?"

Nathan slid down against the wall, his body trembling. "I-"

"It's fucking humiliating, Nathan! What the hell do I tell people when they ask how my son is doing at Blackwell? ' _Oh, fantastic – he's liked by NONE of his teachers, he steals thi_ —'"

"OKAY!" Nathan shouted, the word scraping against his throat. "Fine! I get it! Wh-what do you _want_ from me?"

"How _dare_ you scream at me like that," His father growled, voice venomous. Fangs sinking in, deep. "What the hell is wrong with you? You can never just shut the fuck up—"

Nathan hurled his phone across the room, his chest heaving rapidly, sucking up all the oxygen in the room. Before long, it would all be gone.

His phone smacked against the wall nicely, the screen shattered all to hell. He let out a strangled cry, the sound so small and pathetic it almost embarrassed him. His head throbbed horribly, like the only way to soothe the pain was to carve it open with a blade and let everything seep out. Blood, brains, all of it. ( _Or just cut the whole thing off entirely – decapitated corpses don't have problems. You can't yell at someone who's got no head, no heartbeat. Someone who's dead_.)

Instead, Nathan sucker punched the wall, wishing to bruise his hands until they were raw and bleeding. He swung his arm back again and again, unable to quit. The wall was his father, that much was clear. Every shot hurt Nathan so much more than the fucking wall—he couldn't put a hole through it, no matter how badly he wanted to.

"Stupid son of a bitch," he snapped. "Asshole. _Asshole_. YOU'RE SUCH AN ASSHOLE!"

He stood up on shaky legs, stumbling toward his desk in the corner of the room. Several open pill bottles glared at him – still hadn't taken his meds. His hands shot out, recklessly knocking over his once-meticulous set-up. The bottles toppled over, pills scattering the carpet. "I'm not crazy," he said weakly, his heart thudding wildly, the corners of his eyes burning. "I—I don't need ANY of this shit."

Nathan spun around, now face-to-face with the certificate he kept taped on the wall. "The Best Son in the World!" it read. He grinded his teeth, only hearing his father's voice reverberating around his head: _Don't fuck it up... What the hell is wrong with you?... You're NOTHING without me, you understand?_

A scowl tore his face apart as he snatched the paper from the wall. The sight of his father's faded blue signature nauseated him. Stomach convulsing, he began to shred the certificate, his trembling fingers never stopping until there was nothing left to tear, a pile of crumpled scraps lying at his feet.

But looking at his own destruction only made the wetness pooling in his eyelids _overflow_ —the saltiness biting into his skin, eyes on fire. "No—I—I can _fix it_ ," he said feverishly, gathering the shreds from the ground—they fell through his fingers, fluttering lifelessly onto the carpet. His cheeks were drowning now, and he scrubbed at his face with his T-shirt.

 _You can never just shut the fuck up..._

Nathan bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood—dug his nails into his temples until the flesh was screaming—rammed his fists into his own skull until he was dizzy. Anything to suffocate that fucking sound, the same voice that had lived in his brain for as long as he could remember. Even as a child, he would lie awake at night and hear—

Nathan flinched at the knock at the door.

It was almost… timid. Nothing like the obnoxious banging from idiots like Justin and Logan trying to score drugs.

But still.

"Beat it," he snapped. "I'm fucking busy."

"Yo… Nathan?" The voice was rather uncertain. "It's Warren…? You ah, said to drop by at 5:30?"

Shit. _Fuck—_ he had asked the Graham kid to help him with Mrs. Grant's science class. And failing the exam next week wasn't likely to please his father much.

Before he could make a decision, though, the doorknob jiggled, and Warren stepped into the room.

Nathan was sitting on the floor near his bed, knees pulled to his chest and desperately choking down a sob. He didn't make eye contact with the boy standing in his doorway.

"Whoa... Um. I mean, um, do you want me to come back later…? It's just, Evan and I were gonna watch The Invisible Man at eight, so… You know – from H.G. Wells—"

" _I know_."

"Wh-what?" Warren stammered.

"I said, I _know_ – I've got it in my collection." His voice was hoarse, his finger nails digging into his palms as he spoke. "Just—just sit the fuck down already, would you? We can do this fast."

"Right." Warren shut the door behind him, but then faltered. "Is the couch okay?"

"It's fine." He grumbled, knowing that eventually he would have to get up from the floor. But the thought of any more human interaction made him want to dry heave.

"Hey, uh… you okay there?" Warren asked, his voice softer than expected.

Nathan said nothing – he only pushed himself up, biting the insides of his cheek if only to keep from screaming. He gathered his chemistry textbook and notes from his desk and slumped onto the couch beside Warren.

Warren was watching him with these massive, concerned eyes – what the hell was that? Pity? Fucking hell.

"So... the test is on chapter eight, chemical reactions. Is there any stuff in particular you wanted to review?" He asked, pushing a hand through his dark, wavy hair.

Nathan squinted, rubbing his temples. He hadn't realized he was going to have to speak. "Sections three, four and five I guess," he rattled off in hopes that it would keep Warren busy.

"Oh! That's... half of them. Well – that's okay." He rapidly flipped through the textbook pages. "Section three is on chemical equations, so... let's see...okay. Are you able to write out skeleton equations?"

Nathan nodded his reply. It was more or less true.

"Cool beans. What about balancing equations? Those can be kinda tricky, but as long as you check your work, it's super easy. Here, I'll write you a practice one. Ah... double replacements can get sort of complex, so I—... what are you _doing_?"

Warren was staring at Nathan, baffled. Nathan had reached underneath the sofa and was now clutching a bottle of Tres Agaves tequila.

Nathan shrugged, yanking off the rubber stopper. "You want any?" he asked drearily, sucking down the bottle's crystal clear contents. His stomach stirred unpleasantly, but the inferno in his throat was raging and blissful.

"What— _no_." Warren frowned and tried to seize the bottle from his shaking hands. It went more smoothly than he'd predicted. There was no struggle, just – defeat. "Now, come on – what's... going on?"

"I need it." Nathan uttered. His eyes were burning again. "Please."

Warren shook his head and refastened the stopper. "No, you don't. Nathan, look, I… I can't leave until I know you're okay."

"Then get ready to rot in here." Nathan snapped. His fingers twitched involuntarily. "What the fuck do you care, anyway? You just want your cash." He had offered Warren $50 to help him study. What a fantastic idea that had been.

"Forget about the money, man. I was never gonna take it." Warren closed his chemistry book and set it aside. "I know we don't talk, but... you can still – you know, tell me about it. Whatever it is."

"YOU DON'T GET IT!" He shouted, his teeth chattering now. His eyes shiny with tears.

Warren winced, but still moved closer to him on the sofa. "Then help me?" He asked quietly, wanting nothing more than to hold his hand – if just to stop the shaking.

"S-stop pretending to _give_ a shit." Nathan hissed, his face embarrassingly slick with tears and his gaze on the ground. "Everyone just wants money, or drugs, or—" He was breathing erratically now, chest swelling and all his words hopelessly caught in his throat.

Warren scooted closer to Nathan without hesitation. And after some deliberation, he started to rub his back slowly, remembering his mother doing the same for him as a child. Nathan shuddered at the initial touch, but eventually his breathing slowed, and the tears began to dry.

"I hope you don't still think I'm pretending." Warren said, his hand still resting on Nathan's back.

They sat like that for a while – he could feel Nathan's muscles softening, relaxing. It must have been a lifetime since he was allowed to take such deep breaths.

Warren continued to rub the boy's back as he looked around the room. It was a bit of a mess, with shredded paper scraps and pills—pills?—littered all over the floor. The bottle of tequila still stood at his feet. The study session was, undoubtedly, over.

"Are you going to tell anyone?" Nathan asked faintly.

Warren frowned. "You think I'm that big of an asshole?"

He pulled his hand away from Nathan's back after a few minutes. Nathan's head jerked up, and his hand searched for Warren's—he grabbed on, hard.

Warren felt his cheeks flushing a ferocious red, but squeezed back. Nathan was clutching so tightly he thought he was going to crush all the bones in his hand into dust—but if that's what he needed to feel some kind of all right, then it was fine by Warren. Anything was better than seeing him reduced to _that_ \- hunched over, shoulders shaking. It was a special kind of torture, although he couldn't quite place why it gutted him the way it did.

"Hey... you're not still interested in that tequila, are you?" Warren asked slowly, his eyes on the bottle now.

Nathan laughed darkly. "Why? You change your mind, Graham?"

"For science," he said, grinning. "Getting drunk is totally a chemical reaction, is it not?"

"You tell me. You're the science geek."

* * *

Nathan lay sprawled on the sofa, his limbs tingling, every molecule sizzling erratically.

Warren sat on the carpet, eyes slightly bloodshot, trying to balance one of Nathan's empty wine bottles on his head. He could not, and thus the bottle crashed onto the floor accordingly. Raucous laughter erupted from Nathan.

"H-hey – don't _laugh_ at me." Warren pouted. " _Ohh_. I know. I bet you can't even name FIVE elements from the pear-odic table."

"Mmm... too easy." Nathan squinted in concentration. "There's oxagon... hy-hy…...hy drium? – _What's so funny_ , Graham?"

Warren was biting his lip in a miserably hopeless attempt to suppress his laughter. "N-noooothing. Keep going."

"I was _saying_. Kryptonite, tha'one's easy." He said, waving his hand dismissively. "And then—"

"Hey – your hand." Warren frowned. "What happened?"

He was just now noticing the boy's knuckles, scratched and flaming red. Little flecks of dried blood mottled the skin.

Nathan drew his hand away, pressing it against his chest protectively. "It's whatever," he mumbled.

Warren tried using his hands to push himself off the ground. He rose unsteadily, and then stumbled backwards onto his ass again.

Nathan smiled weakly. "Well aren't YOU a bit—" He hiccupped. "Hammered. Need some help, Einstein?"

Warren stubbornly gripped the desk chair for support, and at last staggered onto the sofa. Nathan struggled to sit up and make room for him.

"Lemme see." He urged, gently. Nathan unenthusiastically let his hand dangle at his side.

Warren took his hand in his own, studying the bruises. "S' all swollen," he concluded. He raised the boy's hand to his lips and lightly pecked the battered, rouged skin. "S' better now. Dr. Graham in service."

Nathan wanted to laugh, but couldn't shake the astonishment of being treated so – so – gently. Now too heavy to hold up on his own, he dropped his head on Warren's shoulder.

Warren shut his eyes, feeling the heat in his cheeks when he thought about how much better this was than studying—undeniably quantified by a thousand. For a long time, he was lost in the smell of the boy's hair that tickled his cheek. Honestly, another day, all that fancy hair gel would have been nauseating. But right now, with Nathan's head nuzzled in his shoulder, he didn't mind at all.

Eventually, Nathan nudged his cheek. He looked so goddamn delicate – his face shiny with sweat, blue eyes pleading for something he was unsure of. Mouth trembling.

Warren faltered, but instead of letting his blank mind consume him, he just _—_ he kissed him.

( _shitfuc what if he didn't want me to do that—_ )

Their teeth clashing, tequila-stained mouths, the gnawing and biting of lips – it was _hungry_.

( _where did the hunger come from?_ )

Nathan put his arm around Warren to draw him closer – much closer. Warren was practically in his lap now, fingers tangled in that goddamn fancy, gelled-up hair.

Warren was certain of the metallic taste in his mouth, and his lungs screaming for oxygen – but he kissed the boy, still.

Nathan kissed so aggressively his mouth throbbed, his teeth stung – but he devastated the boy, still.

Warren had started to suck on his jawline—his neck— _fuck,_ his collarbone—but immediately pulled away when Nathan's hand began to creep up his thigh, the skin under his denim jeans prickling.

"Wh-aaat?" Nathan slurred, eyes fluttering in pitiful (adorable?) confusion.

Warren rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. "I'm s-sorry, I just... we – you're—" he stammered. "I don't wanna... take advantage of you. Since you – I mean, we...'re drunk." He furrowed his brows. What had ran so eloquently (sort of) in his mind had babbled out of his mouth rather disastrously.

Nathan shook his head. "Doesn' matter. I'm always..." He faltered, as well. "If 'm not wasted, then I'm just coked up, or fucked up on pills. Never sober anyway." His knee started to bounce.

Warren almost bit his own tongue as he spoke, it killed him so badly. "I just... can't. I'm sorry. But – I don't have to go—if... you don't want me to?" His voice grew small. Shy, even.

Nathan narrowed his eyes, now. "What about your _movie date_ with that hipster douche?"

He smirked. "You sound jealous, Prescott."

"What the fuck ever."

Warren put his hand on the boy's knee to stop it from shaking. "I'll stay – but only 'cause I don't wanna bruise your precious ego." He said, flashing a tantalizing grin.

Nathan rolled his eyes so hard he thought his eye sockets might fall right out – but said nothing in fear that Warren might change his mind. He just couldn't handle that.


	2. Just A Little Bit

omg, I wasn't going to do a chapter 2 but then people actually asked for it lmao. beware that it's like 80% sexy times.

warnings: profanity, mentions of self harm, brief mentions of alcohol, lots of dicks and basically ye very NSFW haha

* * *

"Bill Nye the Science Guy!"

( _His head throbbed, a familiar ache to him now... but he never got used to the fucking sunlight streaming through the curtains)_

( _He buried his face into the carpet, clinging to what was only wisps of a dream, threads being torn apart_.)

"BILL NYE THE SCIENCE GUY!"

Nathan jerked awake, his arms thrashing about wildly. There was a dull thud.

"Hey... _ow_."

He flinched at the voice, but after squinting long and hard enough, Warren's face swam into view.

"Mm – I'm sorry," he said shakily. The two of them were on the ground, limbs tangled. Slowly, carefully—he pulled himself away from Warren, whose arm covered his eyes protectively. He didn't like the sunlight either.

(But...? Why—)

( _He had never had a boy in his room before._ )

" _BILL NYE THE SCIENCE GUY!_ "

Warren groaned loudly, his face distorted with pain. "Make it stop," he mumbled drowsily.

Nathan frowned, and then saw the glow, the buzzing coming from the boy's pocket. He licked his lips nervously once he understood what he had to do. Gently, he slid his hand into the boy's denim pocket, not being able to ignore the _warmth_ —and retrieved the phone, his fingers twitching uncontrollably.

The screen was lit up with a handful of messages from "Brooke (^-^)":

" _hiya, warren."_

" _hey, are you up yet?"_

" _any chance yr free today? wanted u to take a look something"_

" _it was going to be a surprise, but w/e. just got a new transmitter 4 my drones, pretty sweet. tho I'm having some issues w/ my control unit, not sure what's up. thought you could check it out"_

Nathan clenched his teeth, unsure of why the messages irked him so much. He hardly knew Brooke, but the sudden hostility he felt for her was surging, bubbling in his chest. It was an ugly sort of thing that he didn't understand.

He switched the phone's volume off before that dumbass ringtone could go off again, lest Brooke text Warren for an astonishing _fifth_ time in a row. Briefly, he entertained the idea of responding to her— _"sry, dont have time for ur geek ass. 2 busy doing literally anything else_ ". Instead, he returned the phone to Warren's pocket.

It was surreal to watch him like this – hands curled into loose fists, stomach rising and falling with every deep breath. Like he was actually at peace. And his mouth – it killed him to look, to only _remember_ what the taste was like. It fucking butchered him to see the bruise on his bottom lip, now swollen from his aggression. Still, he wanted to make more; wanted to burst blood vessels with his teeth. Wanted to make him sore with bruises, wanted to _ruin_ him—

He cleared his throat, thick with guilt now. They had been completely _smashed;_ there was no way Warren would have done any of it with a clear mind. Jesus. How pathetic could he get?

Nathan sat up from the floor in an attempt to give Warren some space. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he now recognized what a mess his room was: his miserable, shredded certificate, the destroyed cell phone, and his medication spilled all over the carpet for everybody to see. He slammed his palm into his face, the heat on his cheeks burning so badly he thought he might suffer first degree burns. Warren must have thought him some kind of raging fucking psychopath.

He scrambled to clean up the mess in hopes that maybe Warren hadn't noticed – or maybe the tequila had done away with the memory. He swept the torn pieces of paper underneath his bed, stuffed the cell phone underneath his pillow and haphazardly poured the pills into their proper bottles. (But not without swallowing a pill from each, respectively, and washing it down with a mouthful of champagne. There wasn't anybody to celebrate with, and it made the chalky tablets go down smoothly, so why not? It was a win-win.)

(And – _to be honest_ – his hands, the shaking… it was getting out of control.)

(And… he didn't want to have another breakdown – _not in front of him_.)

Nathan confirmed Warren was still asleep before gathering clean clothes from his closet, because the pajamas he currently wore were deplorable. Memories of last night kept creeping in, like a sort of sickness growing in his gut. They kept getting worse, and he couldn't fathom what had made Warren want to stay.

(" _Are you okay over there?_ ")

(he didn't have to ask, he already _knew the answer_ )

He quickly peeled out of the pajamas, neatly folding each article of clothing and tucking them inside a drawer. Without his sweatshirt now, the cigarette burns scattered on his arms were hard to ignore. Bitter souvenirs from the Newports he lit up, and smoked down to the filter. With his back to Warren, shoulders hunched over, he rubbed at one of the pink scars that tore into his skin. He winced.

"Rich bitch blues," Luke Parker would say. Just cover it up with a Gucci wrist watch, plated in gold. ( _You aren't allowed to have real problems. What's there to cry about? Just take daddy's jet down to St. Tropez and chill the fuck out_.)

"Nice view."

Nathan inhaled sharply, folding his arms across his chest to conceal the burns. And then it occurred to him that he was still just standing there in his boxer briefs.

"But are those, like, diamonds? And _dollar signs_ – on your underwear? I mean, come on."

"Would you just—" Nathan grunted. "They were just— _ugh_ —stop looking, would you?" He hastily threw on the shirt he had set out, fastening the buttons with fingers going at a speed faster than light itself. Fuck buttons.

" _Wait_."

"What?" He grumbled, his back still facing Warren.

"Seriously, come over here for a sec."

Nathan rolled his eyes, but approached him with caution as he finished securing the last of the buttons. But he still had yet to slip into his jeans, and it made him overwhelmingly uncomfortable.

Warren had pulled himself into a sitting position, but with his fingers jammed against his temples, he clearly wasn't in A+ condition.

"This headache is killer," he explained, smiling sheepishly. "Now, um – here – you wanna sit down? It'll be fast, promise."

He clenched his jaw, but complied still – mostly because he didn't have the mental stamina to protest.

Warren hesitated, then clutched his shoulder, yanking him closer. _And now it_ _was all warmth – mouths merging fast and hard_ —and then lips left in arctic condition.

( _What was the cold, again? Just an absence of heat_.)

It was over before Nathan could grasp what had happened. Warren immediately tugged at his long sleeves, eyes trained on a loose thread. "I um – I just wanted to see if that would work," he uttered shyly. "Score one for Graham."

Nathan stared at him in brief astonishment. "So…" he said, slowly. "You're pretty hungover, then?"

Warren continued to pull at the thread. "Uh – uh, yeah, guess so. It kind of feels like...my cranium is gonna burst. If it does, you should snap some pics. For science, of course."

"That's pretty fucking drastic." He said, licking his lips. Warren didn't notice this. "Hey, you know... if you want, I bet I could get rid of that headache."

Warren furrowed his brows. "I'm not trying that 'hair of the dog' thing, if that's what you—"

"Shut _up_." Nathan shoved the boy backwards, onto the floor, and hovered over him precariously. God, he wanted to make him _bleed_ —

"NATHAN!"

After his heart had just about erupted through his chest and exploded, he paused, holding his breath.

" _Hey_." Four rapid knocks at the door. "What the hell, Nate? Why aren't you answering your cell?"

" _Vic_ ," he called out, a bit more aggressively than intended, "It's not the best time right now."

"Ugh – don't tell me you're still in bed. Whatever; I came prepared. I brought Frappuccinos."

Nathan growled irritably as he crawled off Warren, who laid quite still, his face rigid with shock. "Under the bed," he hissed at him, quietly.

Warren cringed, but dragged himself so he lay hidden beneath the bed. Nathan felt awful about leaving him with the dust and spiders, but he didn't see any better options.

"Jesus." He stumbled over to the closet, stepping into the pair of jeans he had been denied of earlier. "Can we meet by the steps in a while? I – I haven't even fixed my hair yet."

"Wow. You _are_ up late. That's cool, I just wanted to talk." Victoria remarked. "Let me in – the whipped cream is starting to melt."

Begrudgingly, Nathan opened up the door. He wasn't in the habit of saying no to Victoria.

"So the stupid bitch was making a big deal about the soy milk, and I told her you were lactose intolerant, but she— _oh..._ my god."

Her mouth, a shimmering bright pink, had fallen open; the shock quickly wore away, however, and settled into unnerving delight.

" _What_?" Nathan insisted, now self-conscious.

Victoria bit her lip, trying to suppress the grin taking over her face. "Nate. You have, like, hickeys _everywhere_." A giggle burst from her mouth. "You want me to help you cover those up?"

His hands flew to his neck as if to cover them up, but the damage had already been done. "It's not funny," he mumbled. "I told you, it's not the best—"

" _God_ , your fly's down. Jesus, Nate, you could have just told me you were fucking somebody in here."

" _Victoria!_ "

"Ha! I knew it. It's all over your face." Victoria smirked pridefully. "Wait – are you _hiding_ someone in here? Shit, no wonder you're so jumpy." She set Nathan's Frappuccino on his desk and began to back out of the room. "I guess I'll see myself out, then. Oh, and – _be_ _safe_ , if you know what I mean." She winked dramatically, and then closed the door behind her.

Nathan rolled his eyes, locked the door and then snatched the hand-held mirror that sat atop his dresser. His neck, as he had suspected, was splotched with bittersweet bruises, all red like wine. The memories of Warren's teeth digging into his flesh made him rather warm in the pit of his stomach, and then lower down.

"You little shit," he uttered, mostly under his breath. When he spun around, Warren had crawled out from beneath the bed and was now lying with his hands folded behind his head. Like he was waiting. ( _For him_.)

"You know, I don't think we're doing this right," Warren stated. "Because somehow you ended up with more clothes on than when—"

Nathan practically pounced on him now, silencing him with violent kisses. His mouth quick, intrusive – meant to be all consuming, forever hungry.

Warren moaned into his mouth, the noise high-pitched and pleading. Writhing desperately beneath his body.

Nathan jerked him up by his hair, clenching fistfuls as he pulled away from the kiss and began to tear into his throat, the skin feverishly hot. He _wasn't_ going to be the only one with hickeys. As he continued to gnaw and pull with his teeth, the other boy had reached his hands around and was now clawing into his back, his hands eager, insistent.

He yanked at the bottom of Warren's shirts (why the _fuck_ did he have to be wearing two layers?) until he got the hint, and his hands went limp at his sides as Nathan tore the clothing over his head. Warren reached clumsily for his shirt now, fumbling with the buttons, but he quickly swatted his hand away.

Nathan ignored his pleading eyes, because he couldn't bear saying no to his face. Because he _wanted_ him to tear the buttons from the shirt and touch his skin and fucking devour him and—

(But if he saw what he had done to himself, touched those fresh scars that bit into his skin like warning signs, _stay away, I am dangerous_ , he might just leave.)

"Come on," he murmured in an effort to change the subject. "Get up here." He slid one hand underneath the boy's back and one underneath his thighs, effectively scooping him up and tossing him onto the bed. He grunted quietly, not wanting Warren to realize the strain it had put on him. Not wanting him to realize how weak he really was. Warren wasn't heavy, but Nathan's bones were fragile.

He stared up at him, face flushed and chest heaving. Nathan briefly traced his skin before biting the dip between his collar bones, kissing his chest, mouth trailing down the boy's ribs. Licking gently, tongue like a snake. It wasn't until he reached the tender skin stretched over his hips that he looked up at Warren, as if asking permission to go further. He only squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, eagerly.

Nathan fumbled with the button and zipper, and then tugged accordingly, helping him crawl out of his jeans. He briefly acknowledged the cats printed on his boxers, but decided against commenting. And then, without warning, he shoved his hand between the boy's legs and grabbed – _hard_.

Warren cried out, the muscles in his legs clenching considerably. "F... _fuck_ ," he breathed.

He crawled over him now, breathing slowly despite his heart, pounding far too quickly. "You like that, yeah?" He whispered roughly, gnawing on his ear lobe. "I'm gonna make you my bitch, Graham."

Nathan tore off his own jeans now, throwing them aside and kneeling on the bed. He grabbed Warren's legs and pulled him closer until his thighs were wrapped around Nathan's waist.

He kissed the boy hard now, biting down on an already swollen lip. Biting until he tasted blood, until Warren was left whining like a helpless child.

"You want me to touch you?" He teased, their mouths inches away.

Warren nodded, his lids heavy and his entire body a trembling mess.

"Afraid I didn't hear you," He said, raising his eyebrows.

"P-please," he begged. "Please, just..."

"Please, _what?_ "

"Just... fu- _fuck me_ , Nathan- _please_ -"

Nathan swallowed hard, and then hooked his thumb around Warren's elastic waist band, giving it a gentle pull. The boy looked hazy, almost as drunk as he did last night. He pulled harder now, Warren's legs lifting so he could get them off entirely. And then he was absolutely naked on Nathan's bed, skin prickled with goosebumps, hair sticking to his forehead that was glistening in sweat.

His chest began to swell uncomfortably, and he realized the fear – (of intimacy? Of being touched... of _touching..._ ) —was going to swallow him unless he did, first. He took a massive breath and then exhaled, if only to slow his heart.

Nathan reached for Warren then, practically delirious with hunger now as he stroked the boy's cock, which had hardened considerably. Caressing slowly, and then faster now, much faster—aggressively, almost. He kept this up until his hand ached, until he almost felt sorry from listening to Warren's whimpers.

"I..." Warren was panting, now. "I just want you to— _please..._ could you, please—"

Although Nathan wanted to hear him say it, he wasn't going to make it do it twice. Instead he reached over for the drawer on his bedside table, feeling around and then closing his hand around the bottle of lube he stored there. Warren's breath hitched just watching Nathan slide out of his underpants, squeezing the bottle's contents onto his fingers and then coating himself with it.

He climbed back onto the bed, tongue thick and his head dizzyingly light. These kinds of things didn't happen unless Nathan was drunk, blazed out of his mind or a crazed combination of both. Never like this.

"Are you—" Nathan cleared his throat. "Ah—ready?"

( _The question was more for himself than Warren._ )

Warren nodded his head, his eyes wide in concentration. " _Yes_ ," he pleaded, his body looking so delicate on the sheets there, his hands bunched up into fists, his back arched. Legs spread.

He didn't waste any time positioning himself over the boy, and then— _achingly_ , slowly…. slowly pushing himself inside. When he opened his eyes, Warren had squeezed his shut, jaw clenched. His chest shuddered, breaths shaky.

( _Are you okay?_ The words drifted through his brain, but he wouldn't, he couldn't say them aloud)

Nathan felt suddenly weak, afraid he had hurt him—until Warren began moving his hips, his face scrunched up in what he hoped was pleasure.

He was gentle for a few devastating moments, but when these fucking moans began pouring out of Warren's mouth he couldn't handle it anymore. He started to thrust harder now, his heart threatening to burst from his chest; he could hear the pounding in his ears.

"Hnn... _ah_ —" Warren gasped, his thighs trembling like mad. "I'm... I have to... ugh-"

Nathan's shirt was suddenly splattered with that hot, milky white liquid. He bit his tongue, thrusting hard several more times before reaching completion.

When he lay beside Warren, the boy laughed faintly.

"Don't you dare," he mumbled. "That was fucking Gucci."

"I tried to take it off," Warren reasoned, twining his fingers in Nathan's hair.

He shut his eyes, enjoying the sensation more than he would have liked to admit. "I know."

Warren seemed to be waiting for an explanation, but when Nathan didn't give one, he only drew him closer, so as to rest his head on his shoulder. "This might come as a shocker," he said, "But I - I kind of like you. But, you know, just a little bit." He raised his eyebrows. "It's not like I have a _crush_ on you or anything. That would be _crazy_."

"You're a fucking dork," Nathan said, but he was smiling anyway. But, you know. Just a little bit.


End file.
